


It’s a Fever, Baby

by Dormchi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Blackwatch Era, Dubious Consent, Little Bit O' Power Play, M/M, Oral Sex, Reyes is Surprisingly Sweet, Sick Character, but just a cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dormchi/pseuds/Dormchi
Summary: The first couple times that McCree sneezes, he doesn’t think much of it.Jesse McCree catches a cold and Commander Reyes takes care of him, in his own way.





	It’s a Fever, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainNeedsNoSleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainNeedsNoSleep/gifts).



> Written as a gift for the lovely [Captain](https://captainneedsnosleep.tumblr.com/), who wasn't feeling well recently, so I wrote her a thing!
> 
> The dubious consent tag is there because at one point McCree very clearly says no, Reyes doesn't stop, and then McCree doesn't feel like saying no anymore. Don't like that, then don't read it. :3
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, this was written in a day and then beta'd in an hour before I leave for vacation!

The first couple times that McCree sneezes, he doesn’t think much of it. They’re returning from a mission and it happens suddenly, three consecutive sneezes that surprise him out of his resting state. He wasn’t asleep, can never really sleep after a mission like this one, and a look around tells him that nobody else was able to sleep either. Nobody says anything about his sneezing or pays him any attention, except Genji who looks at him with the same angry, wild look in his eyes as always.

 

“ _Odaijini_ ,” Genji says in a neutral tone. McCree has no idea what that means, but he doesn’t want a pissed off cyborg as an enemy, so he tips his hat and nods politely in response.

 

The need to sneeze is gone after those few times and Jesse figures his nose is done trying to expel whatever was irritating it. For the rest of the trip, he dozes in and out of a fitful rest.

 

The next time he feels like he has to sneeze, he’s in a Blackwatch mission debriefing. That is less than great, to feel a sneeze coming on as Commander Reyes is grilling them for information on their assassination target, down to what color shoes the guy was wearing. It’s not unheard of for VIPs to hire lookalikes when they’re paranoid enough, and he wants to make sure that everything matches their VIP down to the last detail.

 

It’s torture trying to hold in a sneeze. The inside of his nose itches fiercely, and no amount of scrunching or rubbing or pinching his nose is making the desire to sneeze lessen at all. He’s just lucky that the commander isn’t looking at him or he’d call him out for sure.

 

“Are you done making stupid faces over there, Agent McCree?”

 

The muscles in McCree’s stomach clench tight, and he can’t hold it back anymore. He sneezes into his forearm -- not once, but twice. Loudly.

 

Feeling like he just lost little bits of his brain through his nose, McCree blinks a few times and mumbles, “Yessir.”

 

He spends the rest of the debriefing half-hard and, thankfully, not sneezing.

 

\--

 

Sneezing is a constant over the next few days, accompanied by congestion like he’s never had before. He thinks about paying Angela a visit to get some allergy medicine, but he isn’t a fan of taking pills for every little problem and to him, this is a little problem. Instead, he carries tissues around with him and tries to keep to himself as much as possible.

 

The one time he can’t really do that is training.

 

As Reyes is listing off the group pairings, McCree is blowing his nose discreetly in a far corner of the room. He hears his assignment, “McCree, Shimada,” and looks up in time to see Genji’s eyes on him. He doesn’t look happy, but then again he never does. Hard to tell with him.

 

“Are you feeling any better?” Genji asks as they take their positions on the sparring mat.

 

McCree hasn’t been keeping track, but he’s pretty sure that’s the most words Genji’s spoken to him at one time since the cyborg joined Blackwatch. “Nah, not really, but I’ll be fine. Just allergies, I think.”

 

“You should see Dr. Ziegler.”

 

“She’s got bigger problems to worry about than my runny nose.”

 

Genji seems like he’s done talking. McCree is fine with that being the end of it.

 

“Begin!” Reyes barks.

 

Genji doesn’t go easy on him -- he never does. Before long, McCree is panting as he blocks and dodges and counters the onslaught of attacks. McCree doesn’t know why it’s fair that he’s paired up with the guy who has enhanced reflexes, increased strength, and a lifetime of ninja training, but he knows better than to complain. He can keep up for a while, but eventually he’ll wear down and Genji will take advantage. It’s better to take a graceful defeat than look like he’s scared to fight a cyborg.

 

He’s maybe just a little scared of hand to hand combat. Give him a gun, though, and he destroys Genji on the shooting range and in training simulations.

 

Except this time, he starts to get tired faster than usual. Much faster. He’s hot all over and there’s sweat prickling at his temples, making his hair stick to the sides of his face. He starts to get sloppy and because of it, Genji wears him down with very little visible effort. McCree is a little too slow to block an open-palmed hit to his solar plexus and he falls back onto the mat, the wind completely knocked out of him.

 

Genji puts his knee against McCree’s throat. “Yield.”

 

McCree takes a few deep gulping breaths and taps his hand against Genji’s leg desperately. The cyborg tilts his head in consideration and then removes his knee, gracefully transitioning into a seated pose on the mat.

 

“That was pathetic, McCree,” comes Reyes’s voice from somewhere behind him. “What the fuck is up with you, huh?”

 

McCree rubs at his throat and coughs again. “Not feelin’ too hot lately, sir.”

 

“Then why the hell are you here and not in the infirmary?”

 

He doesn’t have a good answer for that question -- not one that will satisfy Reyes, anyway. McCree sits up and looks to Genji, who is about as unreadable and unhelpful as ever. “I’ll go to the infirmary now,” he says, and makes the mistake of looking up at the man standing over him. Immediately, something twists violent and hot in his gut, just from being at Reyes’s feet like this.

 

“Come with me, McCree. Shimada, I’m sure you can entertain yourself.”

 

Genji nods and says nothing. McCree ignores a strange desire to mouth ‘help me’ to the cyborg as Reyes leads him out of the training room.

 

They walk for a while through the base in a direction that definitely isn’t leading them to the infirmary. Not anywhere close, either. Reyes opens a supply room that’s far off the beaten path and says, “We might have some allergy meds stored in here.”

 

McCree slips inside first and lets Reyes close the door behind them. It’s not incredibly spacious, but there’s more than enough room for the two of them and then some. He waits in the dark as Reyes searches for the light switch, and as the small room is flooded with light from overhead, he steps close, right into McCree’s space, and slips a hand up his neck and into his hair. Then, he leans forward and presses his forehead to McCree’s, and holds it there for a few long moments that feel like an eternity.

 

“Why here?” McCree asks, eyes squeezed shut as heat floods through him.

 

“No cameras in the hallway, no cameras in here,” Reyes answers simply, leaning back a little and pressing the back of his hand to McCree’s forehead instead. His skin feels incredibly cool in comparison to McCree’s own. “Well?”

 

“Well what?”

 

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” Reyes asks, pressing his thumb against McCree’s bottom lip, pushing it out of shape.

 

McCree’s lips part for him, like they always do. “I just don’t wanna get you sick, is all. If that’s what this is.”

 

“That’s touching, really. Come here.”

 

McCree does as he’s told, leaning forward to meet Reyes’s lips with his own. He’s been waiting for days to get the opportunity for time alone with the other man, and he’s not going to waste it because he’s a little sick. If Reyes doesn’t care, then neither does McCree.

 

Reyes backs him slowly up against a shelf and holds him there, hands slipping beneath McCree’s shirt. The mouth against his is warm and alive, and McCree parts his lips for Reyes’s slick tongue as he pushes it between them. He gives as good as he gets, moans unabashedly just to enjoy the way Reyes swallows his sounds, and lets himself enjoy this feeling of being possessed.

 

It’s easy for McCree to lose track of time completely, pinned there between Reyes and a dusty supply shelf, hot tongue gliding against his, fingers dragging slowly down his sides and over his belly to make him squirm. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there’s a voice that’s saying something vitally important, but it seems far away and uninteresting when Reyes takes a nipple between his fingers and tugs on it sharply.

 

Suddenly, Reyes pulls away and McCree takes a huge, gasping breath, his lungs aching immediately.

 

“Breathe through your nose, _pendejo._ ”

 

“I can’t,” McCree coughs, still wheezing to catch his breath. It takes him a minute, but eventually, the pain in his chest dissipates and he feels incredibly stupid.

 

Once McCree finishes coughing, Reyes reaches up and pinches his nose shut, looking at him in that way that makes McCree go completely weak in the knees. “Go see Dr. Ziegler and get her official diagnosis. I don’t need a sick agent running around base infecting everyone.”

 

“Yessir,” McCree agrees, his voice nasally and hard to understand.

 

Reyes turns and leaves without another word, and It’s only as the door closes behind him that McCree realizes he has a very hard, very insistent erection and he’s nowhere close to his room.

 

\--

 

Angela diagnoses him with a common cold, a nasty one, but nothing more than what it is. She reminds him to tell her if his cough turns into a wet one or if he feels any rattling in his lungs when he breathes, but unless it turns out to be something else, he’s stuck just taking cold medicine and waiting it out. There is no cure for the common cold.

 

It feels like a lot more than the common cold. McCree wakes up the next day with full-body shivers, his entire body aching for no good reason at all. He’s sweating, but freezing, which makes no sense and makes it really difficult to get comfortable. His throat is sore and he’s coughing way more than he was previously. Overall, he’s truly miserable.

 

It’s the only sick day he’s ever taken while part of Blackwatch, or Overwatch, and he hopes it’s the only one. He doesn’t know if he can handle more days of feeling sicker than a dog.

 

A knock on the door startles him awake. McCree has no idea what time or what day it is as he walks to the door and uses his fingerprint to open it.

 

The young woman on the other side offers him a bowl of soup that looks like chicken soup with two poached eggs in it. McCree recognizes her as one of the Overwatch cooks. She looks impatient standing there with the tray, so McCree takes it from her quickly.

 

“Room service for lil’ ol’ me?” McCree rasps, cracking a smile. “What is it?”

 

She doesn’t smile back. “ _Sopa de Estrellitas_. Enjoy.”

 

She turns on her heel and speed walks down the hallway. McCree figures it must be lunchtime, so her rushing makes sense. They have a lot of people to feed, and her taking time out of her day to run a special order to his room is kind of ridiculous.

 

Of course, he didn’t order this. But he knows who did.

 

\--

 

Reyes comes to his room later that night. McCree is a shivering, congested, miserable thing, wrapped in a blanket and wearing the least attractive clothes he owns because they’re _warm_. He lets Reyes in and shuts the door behind him without a word.

 

The other man inspects the empty bowl that once held _Sopa de Estrellitas_ and hums when he finds it empty. Then, he sits on the bed, which is a complete mess, the blankets and pillows strewn everywhere from McCree rolling around.

 

“People are goin’ to think there’s some favoritism goin’ on here, boss,” McCree says, breaking the silence.

 

Reyes looks at him with one brow raised. “Name one other instance where I showed you any favoritism.”

 

“You let me make spurs part of my official Blackwatch uniform.”

 

Reyes grins, looking like he knows he’s been caught. Just the sight of that grin makes McCree’s heart leap in his chest. “How’re you feeling?” he asks.

 

“Like death. Can’t sleep for nothin’,” McCree answers honestly, and he takes a seat on the bed, leaving just a few inches between the two of them. He doesn’t know what to expect from Reyes in this situation, because he’s never been sick around the other man before. Injured, yes. Sick, no. “Soup was good though. Thanks for that.”

 

Reyes looks at him and hums thoughtfully. “You should try to get more sleep.”

 

“Nobody on this green Earth wants to sleep right now more than I do. I’m tryin’, I swear.”

 

“Not hard enough.”

 

There’s a spark of something in Reyes’s eyes, and Jesse’s stomach drops immediately. That look usually means that--

 

“Get on the bed and get comfortable.”

 

There’s a fascinating thing that happens when Reyes gives him an order, and it happens then -- even if it’s an order than McCree wants to protest, his body moves to comply anyway. He lays on the bed with his back propped up against the pillows, feeling not the least bit attractive in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, and apprehensive of where this is going.

 

Reyes kneels on the bed in between his parted legs and hooks his fingers in the waistband of McCree’s pants.

 

“Cut it out,” McCree protests weakly, mind running through all the reasons that this is a bad idea. There seem to be fewer and fewer of them as Reyes tugs McCree’s sweatpants down, letting his cock spring free, hard and red where it lays against his lower belly. “I’m seriously gross. I’ve been sweatin’ all day.”

 

Reyes gives him one look that speaks volumes about how little he cares about that, and he dips his head, exhaling a wet, warm breath over the head of McCree’s cock. He knows that mouth, knows how deliriously good it feels to be enveloped in it, and just the promise of it has his resolve crumbling to dust.

 

“Stop,” he rasps, cupping the side of Reyes’s head and feeling the bristly parts of his undercut beneath his palm.

 

Reyes huffs out a laugh, opens his mouth wide, and swallows McCree to the base.

 

McCree whispers, “oh god,” and puts his fist in his mouth.

 

It’s really not fair. Reyes knows what he likes, knows exactly how to play his body to make him last forever or come way too fast. Right now he has no chance of lasting against the wet, warm suction around his cock or the fingers that sneak behind his balls, kneading and pressing as Reyes bobs his head. For a while it feels like he’s going to come between one breath and the next, and he doesn’t know how long it lasts.

 

When he comes, McCree arches his back and cries out around his fist. His mind is fever-bright as he spills in thick spurts over Reyes’s tongue and down his throat. He’s vaguely aware that he’s babbling with no idea of what he’s saying. Reyes swallows everything, throat working convulsively around the sensitive head of McCree’s cock until he softens and slips out of his mouth.

 

McCree lets out a huge breath and sinks back into the pillows. “Goddamn.”

 

Reyes licks his lips and runs his thumb along the corner of his mouth. The sight of him makes McCree shiver from head to toe. Besides his swollen lips, nobody would be able to tell that Commander Gabriel Reyes had just sucked cock and swallowed the evidence.

 

Before he can stop himself, McCree yawns.

 

“Always so tired after I get you off,” Reyes says, entirely smug. “Move over.”

 

McCree blinks at him, surprised, but he crawls under the blankets and leaves space. Reyes climbs out of bed and strips off his shirt and pants, then joins him in bed and throws a thick arm over his waist.

 

It occurs to him in his half-asleep, post-orgasmic haze that he didn’t return the favor. “Do you want--”

 

“Go to sleep, Jesse.”

 

\--

 

Reyes only stays until the early morning, or McCree assumes so, because he’s gone when he wakes up. McCree spends one more day recovering in bed, just to be sure that he’s in fighting shape again, and Reyes leaves him alone. He sleeps most of it away and when he’s not sleeping, he’s furiously jacking off to the memory of Reyes sucking his cock.

 

The following day, he returns to work, feeling moderately more human and anxious to do something after spending two days in bed. Reyes pairs him up with Genji again and he puts up a better fight, even managing to pin the cyborg for a few seconds before getting thrown off. They have an understanding, he thinks. Genji might be a ball of murderous rage that scares the other agents, but really he’s pretty good at holding back. McCree manages to make it out of training with just a bruised, not dislocated, shoulder, and he feels better than he has in days as they wrap up.

 

Later, as he’s walking out of the training room, he hears the sound of Reyes sneezing echo down the hallway, and he grins all the way to the showers.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Dormchi on Twitter and Tumblr as well!


End file.
